


They Were Afraid Of Me

by Merit



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Pre-Series, Sexual Abuse, The Capitol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They wanted a show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Were Afraid Of Me

They wanted a show.

Johanna didn’t attend these things. She usually didn’t. But Finnick had dragged her here and she hadn’t been able to say no. She didn’t have many friends amongst the other Victors. They had too much in common, but nothing good.

It was the usual Capitol shindig. The place was dimly lit – back home they would have shaken their heads in wonder, why squint across the room when with a flick of your finger you could have the room brightly lit? Professionally done, of course, because who ever arranged their lights personally? Johanna had to keep her mouth closed sometimes, because while they found her witty, they wouldn’t want her totally truthful.

It was populated by the usual Capitol crowd. Stylists, celebrity chefs, various managers from the Capitol’s greatest businesses all preened and admired each other. But she supposed there was another reason why it was so dark, the room swathed in greys and purples, it allowed two people to disappear into alcove and intimately, publicly fuck.

She shifted on her feet, looking around and not finding a single person she liked. She hated the Capitol. Why would she want to spend any more time there? Surrounded by vapid people babbling about the newest fad, the newest trend that would be passé the next day, it was a chore. She didn’t want to.

But the Games.

Every year she was forced back here. Johanna sometimes wondered if this was the reason why so many Victors were addicted to morphling, addicted to booze, addicted to anything that would make them numb for a few minutes. Being a mentor sucked. She hadn’t yet succumbed but sometimes she looked at a bottle of whiskey – when you were friendly with Haymitch Abernathy you got acquainted with various types of liquor whether you liked it or not – and wondered what it would be like to just drink, drink and let the dark thoughts disappear.

But she had seen Haymitch in the mornings. It never went away. No matter how much you might wish it. She supposed she could have lived with the killing, the blood on her hands, the faces of the dead haunting her dreams – not her mother’s, not her brother’s, no, please not that. But every year she had to send out two more victims.

A District 7 Victor was so 71st Hunger Games. They wouldn’t want another for a while. They had been so bored by Blight. But now they had Johanna, bitter and biting, a sharp face and sharper words. She amused them. So there wouldn’t be a Victor from 7 in a while. Unless one of her mentees managed to impress them. And even then the Games could be so chaotic.

She didn’t want to attend these parties. But she remembered the faces of her past mentees. They deserved a sponsorship if she could get one for them. Schmoozing was not in her nature. But Johanna set her mouth in a jagged line, smiling, and tried her best to be charming. Thank fuck they liked her nasty mouth, thank fuck they found that _amusing_. She was the foul mouthed girl from 7 that was her _thing_ now.

Even when the Games weren’t on, the Capitol still needed to be entertained. Finnick knew that more than anyone. He had invited her here and then abandoned her. He smiled, maybe at her, maybe because they liked it when he smiled. Now the party was gathered around a pavilion. Johanna shoved her way to the front and watched Finnick stand there. His back was stretched, almost impossibly, but not enough to break him. He was covered in a translucent robe, the fabric swished enticingly around him when he bowed to the crowd.

They gushed, leaning forward, eyes on his beautiful form. Johanna swallowed, acid rising up to her throat, making her lips sour. Finnick’s gaze met hers and then he nodded before he continued the show. Johanna didn’t know if he wanted her to see this. She didn’t want to. So she turned and left, her place in the front of the crowd being eagerly taken up by a spotted young man. Not the usual spots, but a bright green that glowed under the dim lights.

The crowd surged forward and Finnick was lost under a seat of hands. She leaned against a wall, a blot against the crisp white, and her hands tense against her thighs. The pulsing music hurt her ears, hurt her ears and she hated it all.

“So you didn’t like it,” Finnick whispered in her ear. Johanna started and whirled around. She almost broke his nose and Finnick raised his hands defensively. “I’ll be careful next time,” he said, smiling, slightly mockingly at her.

“No,” Johanna said carefully, thinking of what Snow had asked her, thinking of what Snow had asked Finnick. “I’m much too simple for that,” she said with a tart twist of her mouth.

Finnick laughed and ran a hand through his hair. It was darkened by water and the shadowy lights. He smelled clean now, almost sterile. Johanna wondered how much time had passed when she had closed her eyes. But his eyes were bright and stuck out more in the greys and purples of the room. He was framed by a bruise; Johanna thought distantly and then shook her head.

“I’m free now,” Finnick said, words soft, but Johanna heard him over the music. “Did you want to go?”

“I never wanted to come,” Johanna muttered. Finnick offered her an arm and Johanna took it, because maybe some of his golden boy reputation would rub off on her. Maybe that would make the traditional sponsors of 7 release some of their money in the next games.

They had places in Capitol, nothing as grand as a tributes’ quarters, but perfectly suitable to their status as Victors. They were all housed together – better access, better control. It wasn’t far away and the night air was a cool rush on Johanna’s neck before the city smells made her miss the clean air of 7. Finnick kept a studiously blank expression on his face on the walk home. It was only when they were in their building that he relaxed, his fingers loosening on his arm.

“Sorry,” Finnick said, shaking his hair and smiling winsomely at her. Johanna frowned.

“You don’t have to act like that in front of me,” she said stiffly, crossing her arms. “I don’t care about all that.”

“How kind of you,” Finnick said, so quickly that Johanna wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly. When she looked at him his expression was clear.

“I don’t care,” Johanna repeated. “That you do that. I hate it. So much. I wanted to kill them all. For touching you when you didn’t want to be touched. But I don’t care about your body.”

Finnick was quiet but he directed to his quarters on the fourth floor because the Capitol liked to rub in that they didn’t belong, that they were here because of what they did, where they were from. His quarters actually looked lived in. Johanna’s were clinical. The only real sign that she lived there was her messy bed, carefully made up every morning by a pair of Voxes.

“You understand,” Finnick said slowly, making a couple of adjustments so that windows were tinted opaque. He fiddled with a remote of some sort and then stared at her. “You understand that most people are interested in my body?”

It wasn’t arrogance. Johanna had seen him admired, from afar and too intimately. She shook her head. “I’m not,” she said.

He smiled. Probably his first real one of the night. It was darker than all his others. This was the true Finnick. Or at least as much as he was willing to show her. “Pity,” he said, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes. “You’re actually someone I wouldn’t mind sleeping with.”

“A tragedy,” Johanna murmured dryly. She collapsed on his couch, resting a hand on her forehead. “How ever will you survive.” Finnick sat next to her, lifting up her legs and resting them across his lap. Johanna cracked her eyes opened and quirked a brow.

“I want more than sex sometimes,” Finnick said, and his voice didn’t break, his gaze was steady and clear. Johanna tensed. He was probably more broken than her in some ways, she thought, that he could fake it so well that it looked real when he smiled at Capitol citizens.

“Yeah?” She asked.

“They’re not usually up for cuddling,” Finnick said calmly, but there a nasty twist to his lips. Just for a second.

“C’mere,” Johanna said and pulled him down. Finnick met her gaze before nodding. There was a bit of awkward shuffling as they arranged themselves on the couch. Finally their limbs were locked around each other and they were breathing in each other’s warm air. Johanna rested her forehead against Finnick’s shoulder and sighed. “I thought this had all been taken away.”

“They wanted to,” Finnick said, and pressed a dry kiss against her neck. It was sweet and completely unromantic. Johanna wriggled closer.

She closed her eyes. “I would be up for this,” she said in her shoulder. “When we both need it.”

Finnick’s limbs tensed for a second before he relaxed. “Just this,” Finnick said, “That would be perfect.”


End file.
